The Words
by Sapphire Elliore
Summary: It wasn't like how the rest of the internet thought it would be. He may have wanted to shout; "That's what you thought, internet!" proudly, but he couldn't. Because he wanted it so bad like any fangirl. It's 2022, and a single word still haunts him. An admission. He was, a coward.


_So I found this while rummaging through my external drive. Humour me on this._

 **THIRTEEN YEARS.** Thirteen years of living in the same space, working together, making videos together, and just being a companion to each other, Dan Howell never imagined that he would actually still see this 35-year old man child awkwardly put his suit on.

"Jesus Christ, Phil. You want me to help you or not?" he shouted in front of the curtain drawn in front of him.

"no-wait-no, seriously-" A few muffled replies and a rustle of clothing can be heard from the other side. Dan sighed.

"It's not like I haven't seen you in your _full glory_ before, Phil." Dan replied as he tried to draw the curtain, on the hopes of making this fitting faster. Because God help him, the last thing he wanted to do is to spend half a day just fitting suits. There's the internet, for one reason.

The curtains were drawn by the person inside himself, and Dan had to step back to take in the image. It was still the same stance, the suit emphasizing his structure and form, his ever-confusing set of blue, yellow or green orbs twinkling with a hint of shyness and excitement. His smile same as always—the smile Dan always categorized and labeled as 'one-of-its-kind-smile'.

"Enjoying the view?" Phil asked in a teasing tone as he noticed Dan's shocked looked.

"I'm surprised, Phil." Dan started, a teasing, yet appreciative smile forming on his face as he looked at him from head to toe, "that for a very old man, you would take almost half an hour to choose and put a suit on." Dan continued, now smirking. _Not that I'm not enjoying the view._

"I am not old, you're just young." Phil retorted. "So, is it okay?" He asks, and Dan thought for a while if he's talking about getting married, but then again, he chides himself for overthinking. It's what he wants.

Dan smiles. "If I say fine, can we go home?" Is what he says, but his mind is screaming _you look so damn fine that I'm planning to take Onision's words to the heart about the irony of you putting on a suit._

Like he'll ever say that.

\\\\\\\\\\_/

"I am not going back there, that was a horrid experience for me. You are not making me go back there tomorrow, you twat." Dan retorts as he plops himself on their couch. Phil merely smiles and walks to the kitchen, intending to prepare dinner for the two of them.

"But I still haven't chose what I want. Help me…" Phil replied as he stared at Dan who was still lying face down on their-his, Dan's couch. "Aren't you going to be uncomfortable?" He suddenly mused.

"I'm used to lying like this, you know that." And then he never said anything. He was quiet, much to Phil's surprise. Not that Dan doesn't become quiet in the middle of their bantering, but there was an air of gloom over him, he noticed.

Then he sees the boxes by the door and he thinks that he's also in that gloom cloud. If it exists.

"Hey," Dan suddenly voices out, making Phil snap his attention back to Dan, who was now sitting comfortably on the sofa.

"What is it?" Phil asks. Dan gives him a mischievous grin. _Oh no,_ he thinks, _Dan is up to something again._

"Don't think I didn't see what you brought yesterday." Dan muses, and Phil shakes his head. _No._

"I don't know what you're talking about, Daniel." He nonchantly replies, and Dan stands up and walks towards their cupboards, in which he watches him take the glass bottle on the top shelf with one swift move and wave it in front of him.

"No, Dan. We are not getting drunk." He protests, and Dan gives his signature challenging glares and Phil wants to but at the same time he doesn't.

"Really? A man about to go into matrimony won't even touch a glass of liquor before his wedding. You shame us, mate. What could possibly go wrong?" And then Dan gives him a smile and it dissolves Phil's rationality because _fuck it,_ he thinks, _whatever goes wrong we can just blame it on the alcohol._

\\\\\\\\_/

A few shots of vodka later, Dan feels it's time to just stop playing Mario Kart, so he flops the controller on the couch and lies down on the floor.

"Dan? Do you want to go to bed?" Phil asks him, always the ever concerned for his well-being.

"Noooooo.." He groaned as he sat back up and faced Phil, who was now looking at him. "Let's play."

"Weren't we just playing 'til you decided to throw your controller on the couch?" Phil replied.

"A different one, you turnip." He replies.

"What do you suggest?" Phil asks again, setting his controller aside.

"Truth or Dare." He quips, because it's the first and the last thing he wants to play. Because whatever he's gonna say or do, he'll be able to blame it on the alcohol.

"Fine." Phil agrees, much to Dan's surprise. He giggles, much to his disgust, but Phil just smiles at him.

"Truth or Dare, Philly?" He asks.

"Don't call me Philly, Danny. Truth, I guess?" Phil replies.

"You called me Danny, so it's quits." Dan replied as he thought for something, "last text you sent to?"

Phil shook his head as he took his phone and checked. "Lame, Howell. Lame. Janice. Good night."

 _Of course it's Janice._ " Really, well you think of something better then. You're such a lame texter. Just good night not even something sexy or mildly suggestive like-"

"Dan, Janice and I don't swing that way. You know that." Phil retorted back, placing the phone on his side. "Your turn." He quips afterwards, giving him a challenging and daring glare.

"Dare." Dan only replied, staring back at him. _Dare me anything Phil. Try me._ His inner voice seem to shout.

Phil took a sip from his glass then glanced at him. "Do something that you've never done before." He stated, locking his eyes onto Dan's.

 _Like what, you? That's impossible, right?_ Dan inwardly cringed at the thought. This was about Phil. He can go tell his feelings for the man to go fuck themselves because there's no use anymore.

"Something?" Dan asked.

"Yeah." Phil replied, giving him one of his firm nods. He smiled.

So Dan did something he'd never done before. He stood up (and it definitely was a struggle considering the amount of liquor he consumed) and walked to the window, opened it, and screamed.

Whatever it was, it made Phil just stare. Dan knew that he watched him scream, as he can feel his heavy gaze. And not to mention that Phil was staring at Dan as he sat back beside him, a smirk on his face.

"Satisfied?" Dan quipped, smirking. Phil smiled. Bitterly.

"Dare." Phil only replied.

"Same thing then, can't think of anything else." Dan retorted as he leaned on the couch, trying to process his thoughts about what he did. It's not a big thing if he did scream outside, the problem is _what he screamed._

"Where's the creativity in that, _Daniel?_ " A change of tone. His full first name. Dan glanced at Phil, and realized what he had just done. Not that he's ever going to mind it because fuck it, he's drunk, and he doesn't care if Phil will remember what he said, he'll try to move on.

"Fine, _Phillip._ Do something you want to do but regret it the next day." He replied, half-pissed and half-anxious.

Because he probably knew what Phil would actually do the moment Phil's lips landed on his. He accepted his kiss wide open, sighing and asking for more, because yet again it's a dare and there's the alcohol so it'll probably be legit.

And he wasn't the only one who'll be regretting it in the morning. Phil will regret but Dan will mourn.

He pushed Phil away, gently, and Phil backed down and sat in front of him.

"You're still a good kisser." Phil quips as he brushes his hair upwards.

Dan smiles. "You're better. Practice?" He asks, and Dan can see the change of emotion in Phil.

"Probably. Your turn." A meek reply. _So he's already regretting it._

"Truth." Dan replied, now taking a sip from his own glass. _Liquid courage. Yup, that's what I need the most._

"Do you want to be in my wedding?" Phil asks. It wasn't daring. It wasn't challenging. It was a mixture of hurt and curiosity.

"Lame question, Phillip. I'm your best man and you ask me—"

"Do you _want_ to be in my wedding?" Phil asks again, emphasizing _want._

 _Truth it is then._ "No."

"Why?" Phil asks, but Dan doesn't answer. The single word felt too much already for him.

"Truth." Phil says after eerily long moment of silence, and Dan was still staring at the ceiling and he thinks, _he's very drunk._ "Truth, Dan." He says again, and this time Dan stares at him, as if contemplating to whether or not ask him something.

"Pick dare." Dan insisted.

"I already picked truth."

"Dare," Dan insisted.

"Why?"

"So that I won't have to hear the answer to my question."

"Ask me. You'll probably forget it, you're so drunk—" Phil halted when he heard Dan ask him the question;

"Did you regret-did you regret whatever happened to us?" Dan finally asked.

"I wanted more, actually." Phil answered, without a single hint of hesitation. "I wanted you. You and me, and something more. I still regret one thing though, I pick truth by the way."

Dan was staring at him in awe. Then recovered. "What is it that you regret?" He asked cautiously, as if knowing the answer.

"That you chose to scream bloody murder outside the window that you still love me when you could have said it way back then." Phil muttered, as he felt anger bubbling inside him. "You never even told me, and now, Dan, _now when I'm finally marrying someone else and I thought everything was fine you decide to get us drunk and make me feel this way again?"_

Dan never felt frightened and hurt in his entire life. Sure there were fuck ups in his life but nothing compared to this. His bright ray of sunshine, who was always cheery, was mad. And hurt. And everything he said, was a dagger through his heart.

He hated himself, and the others hate him and he was fine with that. He was fine with every bit of angry retort thrown back at him but nothing compares to this. To seeing Phil Lester angry. To know that he was still hurt. To see how his words of anger voice out calmly on his mouth.

Tears were now falling on his cheeks, and he doesn't care. He doesn't care when Phil's expression softens and he pulls Dan to his arms and hugs him and tries to say sorry and comfort him, because he can only feel himself being killed on the inside. He can only hear himself say six words to Phil over and over again as he buries himself in Phil's arms, to be engulfed in his warmth for one last time;

"I'm sorry, I still love you."

\\\\\\\\_/

He wakes up lying on his bed. Alone. Of course. He sits up, feeling the throbbing pain in his head as he remembers that he got drunk with Phil last night. He glances at his bedside stand and sees a post-it with a familiar handwriting.

And then he remembers.

The pain is worse.

He feels like his heart is being clawed out by some unknown creature, but it doesn't kill him. It only tortures with the pain.

The regret.

And he feels himself cry again, but then again he knows he won't be there to comfort him again because he's gone. He knows when he steps outside his bedroom his things won't be there anymore, and the only thing that can serve as a reminder of him will be the post-it on his bedside table.

And Dan cries, cries because he has to, he has to let it all out because this will be the only chance he'll ever have.

A simple note of _sorry, get well_ won't probably wake him up from this nightmare.

Because now he wishes that he had said it before, that he didn't become a coward because he was scared of being hurt. Because if he probably did, then he'll be the one probably getting married and not that girl from the shop.

And he probably will interpret the faint calling of his name as a mind trick.


End file.
